


Swansong

by lucius_complex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Children's Stories, Christmas, Enid Blyton Tribute, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucius_complex/pseuds/lucius_complex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry finally finds another boy in Hogwarts who hates Christmas as much as he.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tribute to children's writer Enid B, and the beauty of fairy tales <3

 

  

**SWANSONG**

 

**Part One**

 

“Hello- November’s almost finished!” cried a half-surprised Ron to his Gryffindor mates at breakfast. “Second year sure went by jolly fast!”

 

“Christmas month is up, mates! Holidays! Presents! No more potions!”

 

“What I like best about Christmas,” Ron muffled with his mouth full, “is the food.”

 

“Ai, Ron, you’ve going to give Neville a run for his money if you continue to eat the way you do,” Seamus said, grinning.

 

“Me mum’s written me this week and said they’ve got something special waiting for me at home,” Dean Thomas interjected. “I’ve been dropping hints for a broom for ages- I hope they brought a Sweepstake.”

 

“If Mum knits another sweater for me again this Christmas I’m going to  _cry_ ,” Ron said.

 

Harry finished pushing his breakfast off his plate. Nobody noticed Harry sitting very quietly with his breakfast eggs dripping all over the table, although he had been sitting right in the middle of the chattering group. He didn’t look excited about the impending prospects of Christmas  _at all_.

 

“You boys are incorrigible!” Hermione said loudly, banging her books on the table. “Christmas is about time with family and friends, not getting presents!”

 

“Trust ‘Mione to use the big words so we don’t know what she’s  _really_ saying about us,” Fred chuckled, and everyone laughed, except one lonely black-haired boy, who quietly slipped away unnoticed.

 

“I hate Christmas,” Harry grumbled to himself as he made his way through the crowded hallways to get back to the Gryffindor common room. All around him, excited faces chattered away, cheeks pink and eyes glowing like coals.

 

He noticed that the Christmas cheer had narrowed even the usually competitive chasm between Gryffindor and Slytherin- there was snub-nosed Pansy Parkinson at breakfast, generously sharing the huge tin of cookies that had been sent by her parents with everyone in the hall, and he had even seen Neville take a large pink one out with a shy smile.

 

Around the corner, he brushed past his housemate Seamus Finagan, who was laughing and gesturing to Morag MacDougal.

 

“Huh, you should see a real Irish Christmas!” Harry heard Seamus say to Morag, who was Slytherin.

 

“Phoo, me dad’s the laird at the Scottish highlands where we live,” boasted Morag. ‘At Christmas we hang the whole castle with pine wreaths and holy, and cook makes haggis and bannocks-”

 

Harry listened to their voices fade away.

 

He would have to spend Christmas all alone in Hogwarts this year, as nobody in Gryffindor would be staying, and he had no home to go back to where he would be welcomed as much as the other kids at Christmas would. Aunt Petunia would probably make him scrub all the pans that she had used to bake Dudley’s Christmas puddings and pies in, and he could just see Uncle Vernon giving him an empty matchbox for Christmas- “Go magik it into something useful then, if you’re a  _real_ wizard,” he’d taunt- knowing well that Harry was not allowed to do any magic when he was away from Hogwarts. He was a terribly clumsy boy, and he was even clumsier when he was sad, so the chances of him screwing things up, magically or otherwise was always highest during the end of year, and nobody knew that better than his adopted family.

 

The Dursleys were a nasty bunch indeed. Poor Harry! He really felt dreadfully sorry for himself! Lost in his misery, he didn’t see another student crossing in front of him until it was too late- crash! They both went down like skittles.

 

“Watch where you’re going, Gryffindork!” Draco yelled crossly. He didn’t enjoy being sprawled on the floor with Harry’s elbows digging into his ribs, and was in a Very Bad Mood indeed.

 

Harry sat up amongst his scattered belongings and tried to adjust his spectacles, which were broken again. When he finally got his wand pointed the right way round, he hastily spelled the  _Reparo_ charm that Hermione taught him-

 

And looked right into a pair of very stormy eyes, and scowling face.

 

“You are the clumsiest Gryffindor I’ve ever met!” yelled the other boy in a loud voice that made poor Harry stumble back.

 

It was just his luck- the boy who had taken the tumble with Harry had turned out to be the savagely spoilt Slytherin, Draco Malfoy. He was a rich, fair-haired boy who was in the same year as Harry, and was the rudest, nastiest bully for miles around.

 

“Sorry, Malfoy,” Harry mumbled.

 

“Sorry? I’ll show you sorry, you tree-hugging, Christmas-loving GRYFFINDOR!!!”

 

“I do NOT like Christmas!” Harry howled, beginning to get hot under the collar himself at the reference to the dreaded holiday.

 

Just then Ron and Hermione came running up from behind. “Oi Harry! Harry, are you hurt?”

 

“I’m the one who’s been hurt by your two thumbs friend! Always bumping into things and breaking the beakers in Potions! Keep a leash on him!” Draco snapped, beating the imaginary dust off his Slytherin robes.

 

“Malfoy, you’re just the rudest, most  _incorrigible_  boy- even during the one time a year when the rest of your House is nice for a change.”

 

“That’s right!” Ron added loudly. “You don’t know how to celebrate anything at all!”

 

The awful Slytherin’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Don’t mention celebrations to me. Weasel, you’re too poor to afford a  _real_  Christmas. And Granger, don’t use big words- you’re not even a proper witch at all- since you can’t even use magic in front of your parents!”

 

And with that, the Slytherin marched off with his nose in the air! How dreadful! The children stared after his rigid, retreating back in annoyance.

 

“Malfoy’s always ultra-nasty during Christmas,” Harry said angrily, swinging his backpack up from the floor- but he had forgotten to fasten the flap, which opened- and out came the contents again-  _crash_!- scattering all over the floor! Poor Harry! He sighed, and squatted down to pick them up again.

 

“Harry, surely you don’t expect  _Malfoy_  to have any Christmas spirit?!” Ron scoffed.

 

“He’s the meanest Slytherin around,” Hermione said sadly as she helped Harry gather his things. “The other kids wouldn’t be half as bad if it wasn’t for Draco pushing them about.”

 

Harry knew that Hermione enjoyed talking to Pansy. The two girls share a mutual love for unicorns, and Pansy had a lovely black baby unicorn that Hermione would give anything to have a bit of a pet with- but Draco wouldn’t let anyone in his house associate with Gryffindors.

 

“Still, I wonder why he hates Christmas so much,” Ron said. “He probably gets more presents than anybody,”

 

And Harry, following his two chattering friends back to the common room, wondered why as well.

 

 

~

 

The first two weeks of December shuffled past, and a miserable and lonely Gryffindor boy sat all alone in his tower; his face turned towards the star-speckled sky. He was remembering Ron’s words to him just before the Hogwarts Express left with a loud hoot- “Goodbye, old chap, and don’t feel too bad! There’s still Hagrid to go to for tea- and Dumbledore if you want to play chess!”

 

“Well, Hagrid’s been gone for ten days now, to visit his Giant relatives, and I haven’t seen Dumbledore around much. All he did the last time I bumped into him was give me a lemon drop!” Harry complained to his owl, Hedwig.

 

“Whoo?” hooted Hedwig softly.

 

“Never mind,” sighed the little boy, and stroked her lovely white feathers.

 

Hedwig hooted again and hopped to the window ledge. Then she spread her huge wings and flew off, for it was night and she longed for the freedom of unfettered skies. She liked her master- but he was so clumsy that he was likely to pull all her feathers off he continued! So off she went, to seek out a nice mouse for supper. Harry watched her disappear into a dot in the moonlit sky.

 

“Alone again,” he grumbled to himself. “Might as well go see if Hagrid has come home yet. I’m bored to tears!”

 

The wind was very cold, so he hunted for his warmest jumper, and put on a new pair of gloves. Then he wrapped his father’s old invisibility cloak around himself. There was nobody around since it was the holidays, but Filch still patrolled the castle, and he didn’t want to take any chances.

 

All ready for his moonlight trip, he made his way carefully down the winding staircases, all the way out of the castle, and down the stony steps on the steep hillock. The wind was blowing furrows into what little dried bits of grass there were left, and the moonlight painted them different shades of grays and blues, like an Impressionist’s ocean. Harry gingerly made his way past Hagrid’s pumpkin patch, which like most other plants were having a nice winter sleep under the thick blankets of snow. He was feeling so moody that he gave the vegetables a good glare as he walked past. Lucky pumpkins! How he wished he could sleep past Christmas as well!

 

 _Bam bam bam!_  Harry’s fist made a terrible racket on the wooden door. “Hi, Hagrid, it’s me, Harry! Are you home?”

 

An empty silence answered him.

 

He called again loudly, and rapped sharply with his knuckles,  _rat-a-tat-tat!_

 

But the only thing he could hear was the slight creaking of the window grates and his own teeth chattering.

 

“He’s still gone and I’m still really alone,” Harry sighed. “Happy holidays to me.”

 

He turned around to begin the long trek back to the castle, and his mind wondered moodily from one thing to another. Soon however, the sour edge of his self-pity gave away to genuine enjoyment of the sights and sounds of the night just beginning to unfurl around him. The mist was like a silent, soft wing very low on the ground, and he watched a wandering wind shred the silvery clouds that were hanging overhead to rags. The moon had a really round, shimmery sort of face tonight, and there was a family of Sneezing Fairies moving house from the elm to the apple, though why anybody would move in the middle of the night in winter, especially since they sneezed so much, was quite lost on Harry.

 

He thought he heard Hedwig’s soft hooting and craned his neck round to see if he could catch sight of her. It was not Hedwig, but there was something ghostly moving on the lake, and the shape of the castle being illuminated faintly by the night mist…

 

He did a double take, and almost tripped. The lake… there was Something Ghostly on the lake!

 

Harry was so excited by this sight that his feet fumbled and he almost tripped down the steep hill he had been climbing to get back to the castle. It took some time to steady himself, and he took off his fogged-up spectacles and rubbed his eyes, thinking he must be dreaming- but the specter still remained.

 

Forgetting all about the cold in his excitement, he sneaked carefully up to the clearing where he could get a good look at the gliding shadow. At first he thought it was a bird that was flying round the lake- the silvery shadow was moving so fast. It took him some time to really see it clearly, when a provident cloud moved obligingly away from the round-faced harvest moon. The wind, which was very strong in the evening, had fallen into a lull. Harry, peered, and saw the most magnificent sight.

 

What did he see?

 

A wild Swan, gliding on the lake! It must’ve been a girl, all dressed in shades of silver and the palest blue, skating up and down the ice. A glittering swan’s mask, with real white feathers, obscured her features from his questioning eyes.

 

How beautiful she was! How Harry stared! And as he watched, his heart filled with a sense of beauty and melancholy, for though the sight was very charming to behold, it also made him want to weep bitterly at his own loneliness.

 

For long moments he stayed in his hiding place under the bushes, forgetting about the snow and cold. Poor Harry! In all his longing and loneliness, the beautiful, unreachable creature dancing on the lake was like a sign from Heaven, a consolation for his long suffered loss. He was deeply moved by it, and if he hadn’t been a brave boy, he would most certainly have cried, for in his heart and dreams, his mother had always appeared to him as a fair ballerina in a silvery white gown, with thick hair pilled high on her head and soft pink fingers and lips. But in his dreams Harry could never see her face, although he was sure that it was shinning and beautiful- the loveliest mother in the world.

 

Happy feelings flooded Harry as his child’s imagination supplied fanciful, sfumato-soft portraits of the mother he’d never known- except that now they would no longer be far away and vague- now they could be glittering and beautiful, and she would smile at him underneath a white swan’s mask.

 

But all wonderful things must come to an end, and when the little boy saw the Swan stop dancing, he crept away as quietly as he could, before he was discovered, and hurried back to his warm bed in the Gryffindor tower. What a state of quivering and unimaginable excitement he was in then! How his eyes shone as he declared to a bemused Hedwig, who was cleaning her feathers, that he would never sleep again until he saw that beautiful swan dance on the frozen lake, but of course he soon fell fast asleep with a small smile on his face, and as we leave to go back to _our_  beds _,_ we can’t help but as happy and excited as he.

 

~

 


	2. Chapter 2

  

**SWANSONG**

 

**Part Two**  
  
  
The very next day Harry was in Such A State that he was clumsier than ever, but who could blame him? He stubbed his toe, broke two brand new quills, stepped on his own muffler, slopped beef stew down his robes at dinner, and accidentally called his Head of House by her nickname, 'Minnie', which earned him an hour’s detention, polishing all the doorknobs. He barely heard the lecture that McGonagall gave him after his one hour of punishment was up, and had to resist smiling stupidly up at her face, for already it was time for him to slip out to the lake again.   
  
Professor McGonagall let Harry go at last with a sigh, and he rushed upstairs to his own dormitory to put on something warm. Then, with scarcely contained excitement, he snuck off to the lake, keeping close to the bushes so he wouldn’t be seen. Arriving, he saw that the skating Swan was already there on the lake.  
  
This time he was much closer, and could see many details. How exquisite her movements were- like they were telling a story! Intrigued with memorizing every aspect of the dancer that he could, Harry begin to observe more closely. He saw that a glamour charm concealed the dancer’s face and hair completely, so there was no way of telling who it really was. The white and silvery-blue feathers fluffed from the Swan’s head all the way to her back, and were very long; undulating and waving gently in the wind as if they were alive. Her tunic and cloak were iridescent, but made of so many miniscule layers that it looked like a shimmering cloud.   
  
Harry thought that it was a fabulous sight, and stayed until he couldn’t bear the cold anymore, and then he tiptoed quietly away and went back to his bedroom.   
  
He didn’t dare tell anybody about his exciting secret, fearing that it might be a special, evanescent dream that would just melt away like a snowflake when scrutinized. It was to be his little secret- his own private world of delight. Thus the next two nights Harry snuck down to the lake again without incident, guided by the light of the moon.   
  
But on his way to the lake on the third night— Oh, dear me—the clumsy boy stepped on his own cloak and tore it into half! R-I-P-P! A corner of the cloak tore from under his boot, and as he continued to walk, the tear rapidly moved across the entire fabric.  
  
Harry picked up the torn strips in exasperation. “Oh bother that! Now I’ll freeze to death!”  
  
But do you suppose that the lazy boy bothered to go back to his tower to retrieve a new cloak? No he did not! Harry could be dreadfully silly and irresponsible in some ways, and without thinking of the consequences, he continued his journey to his hiding place by the lake. Although there was no snow fall, it was still an exceptionally cold night, with sharp, quicksilver winds that darted around and tickled his ears and neck with icy fingers.  
  
Soon his nose and ear were turning red, then purple. As you can guess, it wasn’t long before he felt a good sneeze coming.  
  
“A-TIS-SHOOO!!”  
  
His giant sneeze was immediately followed by a silence that felt like the whole world was holding its breath. Harry’s heart sank when he saw that the Swan had stopped moving and was looking sharply at the bushes, whose branches suddenly seemed sparse and a rather bad hiding place. Harry tried to get up and scramble away, but he really was a klutz, and ended kicking up more gravel and snow instead. Then his sweater caught a snag at the back, and pulled him backwards; he flailed his arms frantically as he tried to find balance... only to fall back with a big _thump,_ and the bush behind him obligingly dumped a branch full of cold snow on his head.   
  
Harry spluttered, and tried to stand up, spitting snow. But he had forgotten that he had an audience.  
  
“Hey! You!” cried the Swan, skating rapidly to the edge of the lake. “Halt!”   
  
As the Swan shouted, poor Harry received the shock of his life. It was no gentle lady’s voice that reached his ears, but a rather rude boy’s loud yelling! The Swan was actually a boy!  
  
The Swan skidded to a halt in front of Harry, spraying him with chips of ice. He was only slightly taller than Harry himself, though he moved so well that he somehow seemed much older. But whilst he was graceful and beautiful to behold, there was nothing pleasant or gentle about his words.  
  
“How  _dare_  you hide here and watch me like some vulgar peeping tom!”  
  
“I wasn’t being a peeping tom,” Harry defended, feeling slightly braver now that he realized that the Swan couldn’t be very much older than he.  
  
“Why were you sneaking about by the bushes then? Having a good joke at my expense? Go on, explain yourself!”  
  
Harry shuffled his feet, partly from embarrassment, but mostly because it was so cold. “I just came to watch-I was wondering who-” but he was interrupted most rudely by the Swan.  
  
“Well you can’t watch, and you can’t find out who I am. Go away or I’ll curse you!” he threatened, brandishing his wand at Harry’s surprised face.   
  
“Please let me stay. I only wanted to watch you dance,” Harry begged, feeling like he couldn’t bear to be banned from watching, even if the Swan had turned out to be a rude little boy. “Look, I promise I wont try to find out who you are,”  
  
“No. I want you to Go. Away.  _Right._  Now.”  
  
Harry sighed. “I’ll go. It’s just… you make me think about my mum for some reason… I think she would have loved to watch you move,” He turned and trudged away, feeling the loneliness of winter in every inch of his bones.  
  
There was a lull in the wintry winds, as if the night itself were sad for Harry. Then—  
  
“Wait.”   
  
Harry turned around. The single word kindled a flame of hope that instantly dispelled all the cold around him.   
  
The lonely figure in the pond was standing very still and silent, like he was a statue made of ice under the star-speckled sky. The moon had peered over the clouds to listen to their conversation, as if curious to hear their palaver.  
  
“You can stay,” the boy finally said in a sullen voice. “But tell no one, and ask me no questions,”  
  
Harry nodded quickly, and rushed back to the bushes before the strange creature could change his mind.   
  
“And sit where I can see you,” ordered the Swan in an impatient voice as he started skating again. Harry was nonplused for a moment by how familiar the tone of that voice seemed, but he soon forgot it and became lost in the Swan’s enchanting dance.  
  
  
~  
  
  
The following night when Harry crept to the lake again, his heart was pounding beneath layers of sweaters. Was the Swan going to talk to him? Would he change his mind and banish Harry from watching? How he hoped with all his heart that it would not be so! Perhaps he could make himself indispensable to the Swan, and then maybe they could become friends, and he’d have somebody to talk to during the daylight hours as well.   
  
With these fantasies fueling his nervous heart, he made his way to the edge of the lake, and sat on the snowy banks, in plain sight of the Swan who was twirling in ever larger loops, fast and smooth on the ice. Harry waved, and was ignored, so he went over to the sloping banks by the bushes and made a comfortable burrow to spread his blanket over.   
  
And thus begun this nightly ritual- steeped in silence and ice and beating hearts, for Harry, the most alive he had ever felt, allowing his imagination to move and see through the eyes of a majestic swan.   
  
In a very short time they grew comfortable with each other’s presence- the Gryffindor stopped creeping to the edge of the lake like a skulking cat, and the Swan stopped staring suspiciously at Harry’s every move, and even gave him the tiniest of nods when he waved. Every time the Swan made a particularly spectacular move Harry would clap- softly of course, for he could see that the Swan was a touchy animal.   
  
The Swan, of course, ignored him, but Harry didn’t mind. He had a feeling that his presence wasn’t inconsequential, and underneath the glamour charm which hid the dancer’s face, he imagined that there had to be the tiniest of smiles.   
  
  
~  
  
  
Harry ran down to the kitchens, narrowly avoiding stepping on Mrs Norris who was making a fine game of hunting the rats there. A very pleased Dobby ran out to greet him.  
  
“Can I have something small for a picnic please, Dobby?”   
  
Dobby of course, didn’t say no, and didn’t just give him something small- oh no, not Dobby! The house-elf tried to pile the contents of half the kitchen into Harry’s heaving arms, until the Gryffindor had to shout at the house-elf to get him to stop!  
  
Loaded with hot apple cider, pies, Chocolate Frogs, and roasted pine nuts, Harry made his way carefully down to the lake with a silly grin on his face. The Swan was already there, watching Harry haphazardly juggle the many items on his arms, and dropping quite a few.   
  
“Hi!” the Gryffindor boy shouted. “Would you like to share some snacks?”  
  
But the Swan ignored him, and continued dancing.  
  
Harry went back and snuggled into his hole. He was cold, so the first thing he did was to uncap the thermos and pour himself out a good hot cup of cider. The mellow smell of vanilla mixed with the tangy scent of apples and spices hit him in the nose, and he sighed with pleasure.   
  
Presently he noticed that the Swan was dancing nearer and nearer to the edge of the lake, and discerned that the smell of the food must’ve been attracting him, despite his cool expressions and indication to the contrary.  
  
Harry, excitedly feeling like he was tempting a _real_ wild swan, undid his little bags of treats and stayed as still as he could. He figured that if not the cold, then at least the long hours of strenuous dancing would draw the elusive creature nearer.   
  
And wouldn’t you know— an hour later, that was exactly what happened! The Gryffindor was greatly encouraged.   
  
“Won’t you share some pie? I can’t finish it myself, and there’s such an awful lot,”  
  
The Swan stood very still at the edge of the lake, looking at the seated boy through his charmed swan mask, like a solitary, shinny crystal that only appeared as an illusion of the moon. It was a very silent moment, probably the most silent in Harry’s young life.   
  
Then the Swan took the smallest of steps out of the lake and into the snowy embankment, and the silence broke and sprinkled like moon dust around them, and Harry exhaled.  
  
From that night onwards, he visited the kitchens before making his way down to the lake.  
  
~  
  
One night, the two boys were sitting side by side on the snowy embankment of the river and sipping hot chocolate together. The Swan had lingered with Harry longer than he usually did, and was in an uncommonly inquisitive mood. Sweet foods, the Gryffindor quickly discovered, had the effect of loosening the Swan’s tongue.   
  
“My-my mother?” Harry stammered in reply to an abrupt question.  
  
“Yes, you mentioned her the first night, didn’t you?” the Swan said impatiently. “Tell me about her then. Go on.”  
  
“Uh- I can’t,” Harry said helplessly. Despite the mask, he could feel the Swan’s eyes narrow in disbelief.  
  
“If you don’t want to tell me, fine,” the other boy spat, and pushed himself off of the blanket to leave.  
  
Harry fumbled and spluttered, slopping a good deal of his drink on the snow. “Wait! It’s not that I don’t- well, I-I never knew her.”  
  
The swan looked dubious, as if unsure of whether to go or stay; and Harry continued hesitantly, “I have no real memory of her- both my parents died in an accident when I was a baby. Oh I dream of her, sometimes. When I feel lonely or sad, I sometimes think I see her- her face.’ He patted the blanket beside him. “If you stay, I’ll tell you what she looked like in my dreams.”  
  
The swan didn’t say anything, but the Gryffindor guessed that his act of gracefully sinking back into the blanket was an indication that he should continue.  
  
“Somehow, I always imagined her dancing. She’d wear a beautiful white dress, with silver ribbons in her hair- sometimes I’d pretend that I’d gone to a ballet and one of the dancers on stage was her… I’d imagine how proud I felt, and how I’d go and see her right after the performance and tell her how great her dancing was…” Harry’s voice caught brokenly. “I always… leave… before the final act, urm, so that-”   
  
“So that the dream will never end,” his companion finished for him.   
  
Numbly, the Gryffindor nodded. Though he had been ruffled by the recounting of something personal that had been buried so deep inside of him, somehow he felt glad to have confided it to someone. Harry trusted the Swan, although if pressed he could not have said why- perhaps because the strange dancer seemed to hold many of his own secrets as well.  
  
They continued to sit silently together, listening to the remote howling sounds in the distance.   
  
“My mother was a dancer in the days before she married,” the swan suddenly said out of the blue after a few moments. “She was from a good breed, but her family lost their fortune and to keep up appearances she had to tread the boards, though it was shameful to do so. She was very lucky that my father married her despite her dancing.”  
  
Harry privately felt that nothing so beautiful should ever be considered shameful, but he wisely held his tongue, not wanting to disturb the flow of the Swan’s narrative.   
  
“Naturally, after that, she was forbidden to dance. My father found all her shoes and costumes, and they were burnt. She managed to hide this one mask,” he gestured at the feathery disguise that obscured his features, “and I inherited it when she died. Her house-elf snuck it to me.”   
  
The pale white feathers on his head gently curled and undulated with each movement of his words. The Swan told him whole story dispassionately, as if he was narrating an essay on the effects of moonwort on sleeping potions. But Harry could feel his own heart breaking as he realized how similar they were- two boys without mothers. He felt tears coming to his eyes, and quickly blinked them away.   
  
“You know, the winter fair will be coming to Hogsmeade soon,” Harry said, valiantly striking out a brave and casual front. “You should dance at the competition there; I think you’ll cut a jolly fine figure.”  
  
The Swan threw back his head and laughed.  
  
“Did I say something wrong?” Harry asked, feeling a little cross that he might be made joke of.   
  
But the wild Swan  _would_  have his little laugh- although it sounded more bitter than amused, which was truly sad thing to hear in one so young.  
  
“Do you really think I’m that good?”   
  
Harry, bless his childish innocence, heard none of these bitter, half-shrouded thoughts, and knew nothing of the sorrowful maladies which sometimes affect unhappy children.  
  
“Oh yes!” said Harry at once. “You’re light as a snowflake, and you dance like an absolute  _dream_. You look like a real swan, and I always watch you with my heart beating in my mouth, because I think you might just reach the moon without a broom!”  
  
The Swan burst into laughter again at his words, but this time Harry didn’t mind- for he sounded genuinely happy, and the sound was pleasant to hear. And though the Swan simply got up and left after that, with nary a word of goodbye and leaving Harry alone to clean up the remnants of their midnight picnic, the Gryffindor felt like it had been a Very Good Night indeed.

*

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**SWANSONG**

3

The Swan must have thought about Harry’s casual suggestion a great deal, because the following night he glided over the edge of the lake as soon as Harry arrived, nervously balancing a number of flask and parcels that threatened to drop at any time.

“I thought about your suggestion. Its really not as bad as it sounds,” said the Swan haughtily.

“That’s great! You can just make the registration- the closing date is tomorrow- whoa! Its falling!” warned Harry, as his concentration failed and his picnic things fell all over the snow. Poor Harry! He really was dreadfully clumsy!

With a sigh Harry got on his knees and begun to sort out the picnic. It occurred to him that he was always kneeling a great deal, usually every time he made a fool out of himself. “Will I ever become less clumsy with time?” he sighed.

The Swan watched impassively, the only moment being the wavering white feathers behind his head. “Probably not,” he said. “I need you to register us, however.”

“Me?” Harry squeaked. Then it hit him. “ _Us?_ ”

The swan nodded. “I can’t come, but you should be able to do it on both our behalves.”

“Me? I cant skate! Why don’t you register by yourself?”

The Swan shook his head impatiently. “I cannot reveal my name.”

“Huh?” Harry shook his head in confusion, not understanding. “Then how are we going to… wait a minute,”

The Swan nodded. “You will do it for me.”

“But-”

“Oh, don’t be trying, you’re not going to skate for more than two minutes at the competition. You can be a- a statue, or something. ”

“I can’t skate for even twenty seconds! I’ve two left feet!” Harry wailed.

The other boy looked at him condescendingly. “I’m aware of that by now. You’re the very worst sort of person to work with when it comes to these things. But I have a plan. Just trust me.”

Harry stared at the masked Swan standing at the edge of the lake. Trust him? So far for this stranger he’s taken risks, waited for and upon in freezing weather, stole school supplies, and trespassed- and in return, he’d not received the goodwill of a name, much less politeness or gratitude.

Harry opened his mouth to tell him about the haunted toilet on the third floor where he could place his trust, but instead what came out was, “What do you want me to do?”

For some odd reason, it was appreciation enough, just being there to watch the other boy’s shoulders sagged with visible relief as he sighed, the coldness of the air making a little cloud between them, and young Harry felt truly contented, and wanted of nothing more.

 

~

 

And thus Harry begun to participate in a Very Secret Project- he was going to learn how to skate! How excited he was throughout the day! But as the sun fell away from the pink skies, it seemed to take his courage along with it, and his stomach tied into knots. 

Harry apprehensively began his journey down to the lake, clutching his new skates.

The Swan had given him an old but very expensive looking pair of skates that magically shrunk to his size the moment he put them on. Harry found out that his feet felt rather snug and uncomfortable in them, and the cruel glint of the blades beneath made him wish he was back in the relative safety of the Gryffindor tower.

As usual, the Swan was already there, although this time he was waiting at the edge.

“Hang on to my arm,” the Swan ordered imperiously. “Now, the first thing you have to do is find your center of gravity,” the Swan told him as he led a shaking Harry to the middle of the lake “Don’t squeeze your arms together, spread them out for balance.”

After leading him around for a few wobbly circles, the Swan showed him how to lean on his left foot and push out diagonally with his right to propel himself forward. Harry found he could do it if he imagined himself shoveling snow on Uncle Vernon’s driveway. Of course, that didn’t make for a very pleasant association.

Frowning, Harry tried to summon a happier scene.

“Don’t close your eyes!” the Swan shouted at him.

The loud voice threw Harry’s balance- splat! He ended up sprawled face first on the ice. Poor Harry!

The Swan gave an almighty sigh as he pulled him up. “At this rate we might just make it to the competition the following Christmas.”

In his heart, Harry silently agreed.

 

*

 

During the long empty hours of the day, Harry was often tempted to find out who the dancer in the beautiful costume and glamour charm was. Was he from Hogsmead? He’d never seen anybody from there before who moved so well. No, it had to be another student, perhaps from Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.

He thought back on the snippets of conversation they shared, and one in particular stood out from the rest:

“Don’t you play games?” Harry had asked one night. “Climb trees? Been the casualty of a Zonko Shop joke, ever?”

And the Swan had looked so terribly solemn as he said “Never,” that Harry almost wanted to laugh, but instead he felt sorry- not for his own self for once, but for the beautiful wild swan who’s only childish pleasure was to dance incognito under the stars.

He often found himself taking out the skates that the Swan had given him, and spending long hours admiring them. They were dark blue with silver piping, and smart silver hooks for the laces that glowed like newly-minted galleons.

The skates were the most beautiful item he’d ever owned in his life, and Harry begun to realize then, how attracted to beauty he was, and how happy and at peace he felt, simply looking and letting that thing of beauty be.

 

*

 

“After you master balance, the secret to skating is relaxation and technique. These will feed and grow on each other,” The Swan lectured.

Harry wondered when the Swan had ceased to speak English, because he had no idea what was being told to him. But having spent his whole life obeying orders from his aunt and uncle regardless of whether they made sense or not, Harry responded unquestioningly, and skated as smoothly as he could in wide circles, keeping in mind to hold his ankles straight and keep his upper torso nicely balanced…

“Bend your knees!” shouted the Swan, and Harry almost fell down again. Gritting his teeth, he bowed his knees a little.

The Swan continued to issue reminders in an increasingly agitated voice, and usually just when Harry thought he was doing exactly what he was told, he’d be shouted at again not to bend his knees  _that_  much! Really, skating was shaping out to be a dreadful exercise!

And so Harry’s lessons continued apace.

But wouldn’t you know it, after awhile Harry found himself slowly beginning to enjoy the feeling of gliding along the ice. His paces were lengthening, becoming smoother, and soon he was learning how to skate backwards as well. What fun it was, swooshing along with a breeze on your back and no idea where you were going! That that really his favorite exercise.

What made these midnight excursions into the best memories, however, was the Swan’s quiet praises whenever he did something right. How quick and clever he felt whenever that happened!

All his life, Harry had been a clumsy boy, laughed at loud and often. But he felt graceful today, fast and fleet on his feet. And he felt terribly grateful to the Swan for teaching him such grace.

 

*

 

The two boys were sitting on the snowy banks again, warming their chilly fingers against piping hot cups of cacao. Harry was complaining about how he’d rather face the four walls in his Tower and be carried off by boredom, than go back to Little Whinging for Christmas.

“…and my uncle would probably mock me with a matchbox.” The Gryffindor finished with a sulk.

The swan shrugged his shoulders. ‘Presents don’t mean that much to me,”

“That’s probably because you get a million of them every year,’

“No,” said the Swan, and fell silent for a long moment. He finally elaborated; “My family does not subscribe to gift giving.”

“Not even at Christmas?”

“Not even.”

“Why in the world not?” asked Harry, bewildered.

“Because it’s pointless. And I already have everything I could ever want.”

_That can’t be true if you feel you can’t even tell me your name, or dance in daylight._

Harry felt wretched as he followed the Swan back to the lake, and wished he hadn’t mentioned Christmas at all.

 

~

 

“All you need to do is skate in repetitive rings around me throughout the performance, and I will do the rest,” the Swan instructed him as the day to the competition drew nearer. They had decided that Harry was going to play the role of a Red Indian. “At the end of the performance, you shoot me with your bow and arrow, and I die.”

“You  _die_?” Harry spluttered. “Why do you have to die? Can’t you just- just fly away or I miss or something?”

“Don’t be daft. It was to be this way,”

“But it’s so  _sad!_ ” Harry wailed. He really was bothered by the way the story ends.

“Art is supposed to be sad,” the Swan said, and refused to explain further, although Harry had no idea why art should be sad  _at all_. Watching The Swan dance made him feel  _happy._ Could this little child swan only see beauty though sadness?

The Gryffindor thought hard to himself.  _I have to show him there’s more than one way. But how? There must be a way, something I can give him in return.._

So while he was being instructed in the art of skating, Harry found himself beginning to wonder if perhaps there wasn’t something he could give back to the Swan as well. All week Harry wracked his brains to think of a suitable gift, and he walked the streets of Hogsmead several times, searching for something he thought the Swan would like. But he found nothing.

Frustrated, Harry even went to the library to look for ideas. This was rare, for he was not one for unnecessary reading when he could help it. Idly he flipped through several DIY books on magical spells and crafts, and yawned. He’d found a few ideas, and one in particular stood out, but he wasn’t sure if there would be enough time to learn it. The plan called for collecting a few of physical effects that defined the Swan, and creating a beautiful item with the spell that would personalize all these elements.

Harry knew immediately that a crystal snow globe would suit the Swan intrinsically. He started to carefully think about how he was going to steal a feather from the Swan’s head, when a small sound drew his gaze to the shelf in front of him.

Harry startled in surprise. It was Draco, the spoilt Slytherin!

Harry was so surprised that he called Malfoy by his first name. “What are you doing here, Draco? Are you alone?”

“I am,” he nodded quietly, and there was no sneer or taunt that followed on its heels. How surprised Harry was!

Malfoy gave him a very strange look. The Slytherin’s next question however, was even more astounding. “What are you reading there?”

Harry slammed shut his book immediately, causing Malfoy’s eyes to narrow, but he didn’t care. No doubt the Slytherin wouldn’t find some way to ruin his Big Project if he knew anything about it, and Harry wasn’t having that!

“Nothing that would interest someone like you, Malfoy,” he answered, little more rudely than was necessary. “Why are you still here at Hogwarts, don’t you have presents to open back home?”

Really, Harry could be a very naughty boy when he put his mind to it!

 His question seemed to have made the Slytherin very cross, for his face grew very red, and he begun to clear his things away.

 “What would you know about it, Potty,” he said, and swept away, leaving Harry to look after him in perplexity. 

 

~

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**SWANSONG**

**Part Four**

 

Harry gazed at his Red Indian costume in delight. Of course it was nowhere as fancy as the Swan’s own glittering uniform, which he would have in all honestly felt awkward in anyways, so it was ok. He loved the slender bow and arrows, and the smart red and white feathers attached to his Indian tunic. He ran his fingers over the polished antelope horn and blew it till he was blue in the face. What a fine game he had, playing pretend in the Gryffindor room with his costume!

Even got Hedwig into the spirit of his play, and wanting to join in the fun, she flew around in the tower while he ‘hunted’ her, and added her hoots to his whoops and yells.

 *

 

It was their last night together by the lake, for the dawn would bring the day of the Hogmeads Festival, and the skating competition in the village. The Swan was very quiet tonight, and made few demands on Harry

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked him timidly, when they were taking a break by the bank.

“Endings, amongst other things,” came the cryptic reply. 

Harry waited, patient and silent as the night, and the Swan finally swallowed and explained. “My fath… my family will be there tomorrow. Watching.” 

Harry tried to swallow his jealousy at the Swan’s mention of so much loving support. In any case he didn’t sound happy about it.

‘That’s good, isint it?”

The wild Swan turned away, his gaze drawn pensively to the reflection of the moon on the frozen lake. “They will not know who I am. The mask will hide me from them, just as it hides me from you.”

“Would it be so very bad for you take your mask off, even for a moment?” Harry whispered. A melancholy weighed his heart. He had never seen his friend in daylight before, and had hoped that perhaps the Swan would finally take off his mask tomorrow, and they would laugh at each other as they walked back to the castle, and be the best of friends. By the silence that answered him, Harry knew now that would not happen, and a great sense of loss welled up in his throat.

“We are friends now, are we not?” the Swan suddenly asked softly. “Now, like this. Just as we are.”

“Of course we are.”

To his surprise, the Swan gave him a very small smile, which seemed to light up night. “Then, with or without my mask, it doesn’t matter either way.”

Harry returned the smile “No, I guess it doesn’t.” And he believed it. 

Together they watched the moon move across the night sky, like a ghostly galleon crossing a calm and gentle sea. 

 

*

Harry opened his eyes the next morning and knew it was going to be a Very Special Day.

He forced his breakfast kippers down, even though his stomach felt like it couldn’t ingest anything, it fluttered so much. He congratulated himself on having accidently knocked down only one glass of juice, considering his anxious state, and grabbing his feathered headset and bow and arrows, set out at a brisk trot for the village.

Nobody recognized him on the way to the big tent where a skating ring had been set up, for the Swan had essayed a glamour charm to deepen his skin tone and alter his features. When Harry looked into the mirror, he was surprised to see that now he spotted longish hair, and didn’t look fierce so much as stern and determined. The Swan hadn’t gotten rid of his scar, nor did he alter the colour of his green eyes.

What a din greeted his ears when he arrived at the village! The Hogsmead Feast was in full swing, and there were all sorts of sights and sounds to amaze and inspire. Tall harlequin clowns moved up and down the streets on stilts, performing magic for groups of young children. Jugglers were dressed in a riot of colours, juggling everything from fire to Christmas balls. The delicious smells of carnival foods made Harry’s mouth water.

But something was missing from this scene. Something vital.

Harry made his way into the skaters tent and craned his neck as far up as it would go as he searched for the Swan- until at last he caught a glimpse of white and silver winking in the distance. He made his way through the swath of gaily dressed costumes. Dimly, Harry thought he heard his name being called, but he only had eyes for the Swan, who seemed to sparkle, alone and untouchable from afar as if he was a star.

He cupped his hands together and called.

Then the Swan turned his head and met his gaze with the tiniest of nods, and Harry exhaled.

The world they usually met in was now so changed that Harry had feared for one brief moment that it had all been a dream. But The Swan was here. His friend was  _real_.

The Swan beckoned Harry to follow him backstage. Spectators were starting to fill in, and  _Sonorous_ -enhanced reminders announced that the competition would shortly be starting.

“Are you ready?” the Swan asked quietly. He seemed the only calm, solid presence amongst the sea of chatter and exclamations as the other competitors made ready.

His heart in his throat, Harry nodded. Beside him, a participating skater in a red dress was fanning her partner, who had fainted when he saw how many people were in the audience.

Then a fanfare has heard, and everyone fell silent as the Ministry of Magic walked in, accompanied by other officials. Harry saw Lucius Malfoy, sans his son amongst them, looking very bored and out of place, and snickered at the sight. Four  _very serious_  looking judges came in behind them, and look their places at the tables laid out for them in front of the rink.

 _That_ wiped the smirk of his face instantly.

The swan put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve seen enough. We have to be in the waiting area when they call our names.”

Harry nodded and followed him. In the distant, he heard the booming notes of a trumpet, and a cheer went up. The competition had begun.

The wings were filled with a riot of children in costumes and adults fussing with preparatory enchantments. Harry watched a spider costume scurry past, and idly wondered if Ron would be in the audience

All too soon the waiting wings cleared as more and more of the contestants went on stage to take their turn. When the last pair of skaters left, waving a quick good luck, Harry realized with dismay that they were going to be the last contestants on the ice. He had thought a hundred times of sneaking out through the flaps and hightailing it back to Hogwarts as quick as his legs could carry him, before they announced his name and they have to go out in front of a million eyeballs,  _staring_ …

But one look at the Swan, sitting so perfectly still and silent, as if he was made of ice, and Harry’s fears thawed. He closed his eyes, and thought about his imaginary mother, dancing in her perfect white slippers, and knew she would be proud of him. Of them.

Then the Swan gave him a small nod, to indicate that it was time to go.

Harry swallowed, and skated out into the ring. The sudden chill radiating from the ice hit him, and he could feel himself trembling all over as hundreds of eager eyes fixed on him. He circled the ring once, drawing his bow, and tried to think about being a Red Indian, but his mind drew a blank.

He could see the faces of the judges, identical expressions of expectancy on their faces, and above that, an entire arena of people waiting to see him make a fool of himself.

Harry faltered. He could feel himself shrinking under their gaze…

Then Hedwig flew over the ring, and hooted at him. And Harry thought about the wonderful time he had spent being a Red Indian in the solitude of his tower, and suddenly he was no longer afraid.

Exultant, Harry jumped into the air and gave a mighty whoop! The crowd laughed and cheered, and Harry could hear his Gryffindor friends yelling out encouragements, which made his heart swell with pride.

He hollered at the delighted audience: Howww-owww-owww-eeeoowww!

The audience stamped their feet and hollered back at him.

Harry brandished his little axe all around, looking as fierce as possible. He whooped and blew his horn till he went purple in the face. He chased the tail feathers of his own head dress when he caught sight of it, round and round like a puppy chasing its tail, provoking screams of laughter from his audience. In short, Harry gave them the performance of his life!

Then suddenly everything became still, and a snowcharm blew snowflakes of  fairy dust across the ring. The sound of a soft, solitary flute sweetened the sparkling air.

When the Swan flew in, and he was so beautiful that Harry stopped skating and stared, but the audience and judges failed to notice, so enthralled were they by the Swan’s introductory dance. He had a very long, white neck, which he looked regally around with, just like a real swan, and his graceful pirouettes drew gasps from the crowd.

When the flutes died away, Harry skulked to the middle of the ring and slowly unslung his bow and three arrows. Then he stamped his feet on the ice and did a little hunting dance to indicate that he had chosen the Swan as a worthy prey.

The dramatic strings of violins entered then the ring, and begun a terse, cyclical strain.

The Swan seemed to sense the danger, suddenly staying very still and coking his feathered head to one side, listening for any sounds of danger. Harry crocked his bow and drew an arrow, and narrowed his eyes as he aimed…

And he shot at the Swan! The audience gasped as the first arrow missed, and dissolved into a pool of smoke. The Swan glided around the ring twice in response, the flute making fretful sounds as he turned again and again on the ice with an amazing acrobatic ability.

Harry showed his audience he had two arrows left, and the violin again begun to play their tense refrain. As the Red Indian neared his prey, Harry heard some of the audience cry out anxiously with every arrow that he let fly. But each time the Swan twisted away, his silver feathers trailing in the air behind him like smoke. The violins trilled and cascaded, like a waterfall and the Swan jumped higher and higher with the violins, his movements swift and desperate.

Harry showed his audience he had one last arrow left, which he blew on for good luck before drawing his bow one last time. He made his aim for the Swan’s legs, which had been protected with enchantments, and let fly.

But a little girl in the audience had become so caught up with the performance that she forgot it wasn’t real, and screamed- and her cry broke the magic, and the Swan’s timing, and he didn’t turn away in time.

Harry’s arrow whooshed past the Swan’s face and disappeared into smoke behind. But the glancing blow was enough to interfere with the enchantments on the Swan’s mask, which dropped on the ice, and shattered, revealing the skater’s face.

Draco Malfoy’s face.

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes.  _Malfoy._

How could everything suddenly make sense and not make sense at the same time?

The audience gasped, and in the stands, Draco’s father watched impassively, the Minister of Magic beside him. He saw Draco meet his father’s eyes, and flinched, and suddenly Harry understood the reason for the mask, and his own sense of grief and betrayal diminished till it was a snowflake, and melted away.

Harry watched as Draco essayed to speak twice, but failed. In that frightful moment, even he could see that the Swan’s fierce heart was close to breaking.

Lucius Malfoy stood up then, a stern and commanding figure all in black, and walked slowly to the low fence which separated the ring and the audience. His wand was drawn, and Harry thought for one awful moment that he would curse his own son in front of the crowd, so cold and forbidding was his face.

How harry wished he could say something to defend his friend! But like everyone else, he had been struck dumb and rooted to the spot, watching father and son face each other- identical features in dressed in opposing colours, separated by a chasm much wider than the generation gap.

Finally, with his cold voice, Lucius Malfoy raised his wand and uttered the spell which repaired the broken mask. But instead of returning to his seat, his father turned away and walked out of the spectators circle. Draco was left standing there, looking after his retreating back, forlorn and alone.

Harry’s heart broke, and he skated up to the younger Malfoy, who looked at him as if in a daze, and Harry realized then that he had never really seen Draco before, as a person. As a friend.

He slipped his hand in his friends, and squeezed the cold fingers. Draco nodded once, and even offered him a very small smile. Together they made to leave the ring, hand in hand. Draco skated slowly, the conviction in which he usually moved was missing, and made his movements awkward and sluggish. The silence from the audience was deafening, their stares cutting into the boys’ confidence like shards of ice.

But just as they were leaving a noise broke out. It was the four judges, who had risen to their feet, and were now clapping their hands. Slowly the audience followed suit, and added their claps and applauses.

Draco’s fingers clutched at him almost painfully, but Harry didn’t mind.

He didn’t want his new friend to ever let go.

~


	5. Chapter 5

 

**SWANSONG**

****Part Five**   
**

The term resumed for Hogwarts the following week, and suddenly Gryffindor Tower was full of ringing laughter and Fred and George’s only sometimes harmless pranks.  

Harry was glad to see his old friends, but he desperately missed his new one- for Draco had not been seen since the Hogsmead fest, neither in any of their shared classes, nor the Great Hall during mealtimes. Harry listened to his Gryffindor friends toast each other at the Slytherin boy’s continuous absence, and sank into misery, overcome with a deep sense of loss.

His friends soon noticed his gloomy silence, and dragged him out to the lake for an impromptu quidditch match with the Hufflepuffs.

“We need you to be seeker, mate. Game can’t take off without you, come on!” cried an excited Ron as he dragged Harry down to the lake, protesting all the way.

When he arrived Harry saw that the teachers had erected mock stands in the colours of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and there were scores of children already playing there, but despite these changes the sight of the frozen pond made Harry’s eyes water. He thought of the gift he had painstakingly crafted, probably never to meet its intended recipient. Its weight was like a dull ache in his knapsack.

“I really don’t think I can do this, Ron.”

His friend opened a surprised mouth to answer, but they were suddenly distracted by a clop-clopping sound, of horse hooves trotting in the snow.

A handsome midnight and silver carriage drew by, drawn by four black unicorns, and imposed themselves on the edge of the lake. How the children stared at such a grand and splendid sight!

A footman jumped down from the back of the carriage and nimbly whipped out the folded steps. Then he opened the door, and Draco stepped out of the carriage, dressed in a smart purple jacket with orange tassels, long shinny boots and ermine hat. How marvelous he looked!

Then slowly, to everyone’s surprise, he walked towards the Gryffindor stands. Harry, worried that his team mates might begin jeering, quickly walked towards the Syltherin boy. They met halfway in the middle of the lake, amidst the shocked whispers from everyone.

The Gryffindor smiled shyly at his friend. “Halo, you look just like a little Russian prince!”

Draco returned a small smile, one which Harry recognizes from the moonlit nights at the lake. “My father is taking over our old ancestral castle in Russia. I’m missing the rest of the year, and will be transferred to Durmstrang from next year onwards” he said.

Harry stared at his new friend in dismay.  Was he going to finally find a friend who truly understood all the magic and stars, only to lose him?

“I really don’t think we’ll see each other again,” Draco continued, looking as if Harry’s disappointment didn’t affect him in the least. “I know I won’t be dancing at Durmstrang anymore, so I wanted to give you this-” He held up a blue and silver swan’s mask, its white feathers undulating against the hard colour of the black gloves that Draco wore.

Harry’s fingers curled around the feathery softness of the mask dumbly. Draco nodded in farewell, and turned away.

“Wait!”

Again, there lull of the winds, like the first night they met at the lake, except that now it was daylight, and half the school was on the lake, watching. Draco’s back was rigid, but he stopped.

“Wait,” Harry repeated. He shrugged his backpack from his shoulders and poured its contents in a heap on the snow. Draco stood silently watching as Harry got on his knees and combed though his scattered belongings; books getting rapidly soaked, ink pots spilling and quills getting broken under Harry’s shuffling knees, till he found what he was looking for.

“Take this with you,” Harry said, panting slightly from the exercise as he held up a small crystal globe that sparkled like ice. Delicate tendrils of pewter wrapped around the globe to protect its delicate contents of swirling miniature magic. 

For a moment the Ex-Slytherin boy just stood there as it was his wont to do. Many years from now when he was much older Harry would still imagine Draco Malfoy like this- silent, thoughtful, aloof, his stern jacket a rich dark hue against the snow. 

Then in two strides he was back in front of Harry, putting out a gloved hand; only then did the Gryffindor realized that he was still kneeling in the snow amidst his scattered things, soaked to the bone.

The Slytherin pulled Harry up and pointed his wand in his chest. They both didn’t hear the other children in the audience drawing in their breaths in expectation of a nasty spell.

“ _Aquosus Arefacio._  Remember the spell, Potter, if you intend to park yourself in the snow like that a lot.”

Harry nodded, and held out the glowing orb. Draco took it and looked at it- his eyes widened when he saw himself- a perfect miniature in feathered mask and costume gliding over the ice under the gently falling snow.

A wild swan.

“Merry Christmas,” Harry whispered.

Draco looked away- surely he wasn’t crying? His voice was deep and serious when he returned Harry’s wishes.

“Best of tidings to you too, Harry.”

With those last words the Ex-Slytherin walked back to his waiting carriage.

The door slammed shut, and the unicorns neighed and clattered on their way.

 

~

 

It wasn’t until he got back to Little Whinging after the terms end in summer that Harry actually stumbled across a little book called ‘The Wild Swans’  with a beautiful illustration of a ballerina on the cover, all dressed in white and wearing a mask of feathers. At once he hurried into shop to have a closer look, and the Madam Shopkeeper, who was very kind, took one look at his desperate, skinny face and allowed him to take it to the back of her shop to have a read, even making him a cup of tea and some cakes.

Harry gulped down his food and drink at an alarming rate, all the while looking longingly at the picture of the woman on the cover, who he imagined in all his fancy was how his mother would look like if she danced, and perhaps Draco’s mother as well.

He didn’t dare open the book until he finished every crumb and drank every drop of tea. Then he opened the very first page and begin to read.

It was evening before he finished, and gaze unseeingly out at the vaporous, lighted streets. It was a very cold night, but inside Harry was filled with warmth and pictures- of dancing swans who turned into princes, of a lonely and melancholic young child who longed so desperately to find a friend, and the curse of the swans to never reveal the secret of their burden- except to one do discovered it, purely by chance.

And that, Harry supposed, was how the Wild Swan flew away. He didn’t suppose he’d ever see Draco again, either. But to his own surprise, he didn’t feel overly sad- and loneliness was a memory long since banished as a dream.

Somehow he didn’t think they’d forget each other, for the Christmas spirit that they’d each help other find within themselves would forever kindle in their hearts- under the light of the wintry stars.

 

~*~

 

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing,

I cannot ease the burden of your fears,

Or make quick-coming death a little thing,

Or bring again the pleasure of past years,

Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears,

Or hope again for aught that I can say,

The idle singer of an empty day.

 

Folk say, a wizard to a northern king

At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show,

That through one window men beheld the spring,

And through another saw the summer glow,

And through a third the fruited vines a-row,

While still, unheard, but in its wonted way,

Piped the drear wind of that December day.

 

~*~

 

 

“Christmas, my child, is love in action."   
~ Dale Evans

 

 

This story is dedicated to all my fanfic readers,

A Very Merry Christmas to All!

 

 


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